


I Am Grey for You

by ShiNatoka_Nah



Series: Greyed Out [1]
Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Mild Language, Panic Attacks, Real bad puns
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-03
Updated: 2019-04-03
Packaged: 2020-01-04 06:32:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18338093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShiNatoka_Nah/pseuds/ShiNatoka_Nah
Summary: Everyone were born into a world of grey, but those are meant to be temporary. When they meet their soulmates, everything should bloom into a myriad of colors. Unfortunately, it doesn't always happen.(Believing that it's true is even harder.)





	I Am Grey for You

“You should stop tricking him. Do you want to ruin his life? He should be out there, with his _real_ soulmate--”

Virgil clenches his coffee cup, feeling the plastic dents under his fingers. He wants nothing else but to dump his three dollar coffee onto the waiter's big head, but that would only upset Patton further.

“Stop talking like I'm not here,” Virgil growls. He slams his cup down the table before he loses it. In exchange, he grabs Patton's hand and yanks him--gently--out of his seat. “We're leaving, Pat. We don't need to take his shit. Oh, and for your info,” he adds to the bastard who ruined their evening. “He's color blind, you prick.”

“Wha-- _There is no such thing--_ ”

Virgil cuts off the indignant noise by slamming the cafe's door closed behind them. He used to love the place--it's calm, relaxing, with good music and decent coffee--but he swears they’ll never return there again.

“Virgil, breathe, baby. Calm down.”

Virgil doesn't realize that he's heaving and trembling from anger until he feels Patton's hand on his back, rubbing softly to reassure him.

He takes a deep breath, as advised. He counts the seconds before letting it out again in a big huff. “I hate bigots like that.”

“It's a misunderstanding. He doesn't know about me,” Patton, the bleeding heart that he is, still tries to defend the man who was only out to hurt him. “You didn't have to respond to him.”

Virgil whirls to face Patton, detaching the warm hand away. “I wasn't going to _sit there_ and let him insult you--”

“I know, I know!” Patton holds his hands up, asking for peace. “You're just trying to protect me, right? I know, so . . . thank you.”

That easy concession doesn't ease the tension from Virgil's shoulder . . . and for good reason, too.

“But you left your coffee inside,” Patton continues. He spins around, stepping forward to reenter the cafe. “I'll go grab it for you.”

“ _No_!” Virgil grabs his wrist, forcing him to stop. The instinctive rejection came out louder and sharper than intended, because Virgil would rather die than let Patton go back in there alone. Still, he winces under Patton's wide-eyed surprise. “Can we-- just . . . go?”

His pathetic attempt at pleading gives Patton a pause, gaze turning thoughtful as he considers the request. As a starving artist, it can't be easy for Virgil to abandon a brand new cup that they bought for two. For him to do so, it has to be very serious.

“Well, okay,” Patton concedes, allowing Virgil to finally slump with relief. “But only if you give me a smile. Look, it's such a _brew-_ tiful day. We don't want to feel all _depresso_.”

It's those stupid coffee puns. Always the stupid puns. They're what make the curls at the corners of Virgil's lips genuine. He doesn't intend to smile, despite the clear blue sky shining above them, but with Patton acting brighter than the sun itself, how could he not?

“Sorry I ruined our date,” he apologizes as they start walking down the street. Subtly, he shifts his hand from Patton's wrist to tangle their fingers together.

“You didn't ruin anything,” Patton counters, as expected. He swings their arms between them, gently swaying to the rhythm of their feet. “And our date's only begun. We still have a _latte_ to do!”

Debating between laughing or face-palming, Virgil ends up doing both, heart warm at the beaming grin on Patton's face. He decides to put the incident behind them and enjoy what the rest of the date has to offer.

It's a beautiful day, after all.

-o-o-o-

Sometimes, Virgil forgets what it's like, to live without knowing colors. But other times, he wakes up only to fall back onto his bed, dizzy from seeing a world full of hues stretches endlessly in front of his eyes.

When he is with Patton, though, he is constantly reminded of what he has--something so brilliant yet so full of ache, because he can never share it with the person he loves the most.

The incident in the coffee shop--where prying ears hear their secret and wagging tongues decide to rain down judgment--isn't the first, nor will it be the last of such occurrences.

Everyone were born into a world of grey. But those are meant to be temporary. Most people are born with a soulmate--or multiple of them, to some. When they meet their destined partners, the world will bloom into a myriad of colors, showing them what it feels like to be complete. Only those unfortunate enough to lose their soulmates prior meeting them are exempt to this.

. . . Or that's what the world thought, until a couple decades ago.

There is a side to the soulmate system which normal people prefer to overlook. Color blindness. A lone scientist stepped up only over twenty years ago to introduce the defect to the world.

People who have seen colors, who fall in love with them just like they fall for their other half, struggle to believe this revelation. It shakes their believe which has been there for millennia. People who only know greys are even worse in their denial. Nobody is willing to accept that they might miss their soulmates, simply because the world will never change in their eyes.

Virgil was one of the off cases.

Back when he was in high school, he was an outcast. It was . . . his emo era, you could say. Pages upon pages were filled with his dark, depressive poetry. He believed the worst in himself. He didn't think he deserved a soulmate, even though, like everybody else, he longed for one--for a person who could accept him as he was.

Rather than believing that he was born without a soulmate, as his anxiety nagged at him, he preferred to believe that he suffered from color blindness. If he was sick, he wouldn't feel as bad spending the rest of his life in the colorless world.

Of course, he grew up and realized how foolish that way of thinking was, especially with the mounting resistance that kept increasing against the disease. Problem was, Virgil wasn't the only one who believed that he had color blindness. Quite a number of crooks used that opportunity for their own gain, scamming people by pretending to be their soulmates and draining their fortunes before running away and leaving bad impressions in their wake.

When college came around, even Virgil had stopped believing in the scientist's word. One day, he'd see colors, or he wouldn't. That was it. Just like anybody else.

. . . Or so his past self thought.

During the start of his second semester, everything changed. He was half-dozing before the literature class began--a major he'd chosen because writing is relaxing, although boring to study. The others around him were talking among themselves. One of the girls mentioned a new teaching assistant who was supposed to come in today to replace their professor who was away on maternity leave.

Virgil was listening with half an ear, doodling invisible scribbles on the desk as his mind wandered to nothing in particular.

The aula's door creaked open on its rusting hinges and hopped in a young man who was grinning, full of energy.

“Hi, guys! I'm not late, am I? Interstate was really jammed--”

Virgil froze.

Just a glance. That was all it took.

Like spilling ink, a vision he couldn’t describe bled out. It started from the man at the center and grew in a steady pace until the room was covered in blinding, painful panorama.

How do you describe colors to someone who’d never seen them?

Virgil got a pounding headache. His eyes kept jumping from one side to another, unable to comprehend this new, strange view. He was desperate to find comfort, for a familiar grey that had accompanied him his whole life.

Failing that, his gaze flicked to the source of this trouble, the man who must've been his soulmate. Maybe they could commiserate together. He wished, at least, for someone to sympathize with, so he could focus on something else beside the tightening sensation inside his throat.

But, for the second time that day, he froze, pounding heart seemingly fell still within his chest.

The TA, painted in colors that was bright, that was light, was chatting with one of the students in the front row. His grin was as excited as when he first came. He didn't show a single sign that he experienced the same transformation Virgil had just underwent.

His destined soulmate didn't reciprocate his fate.

That was what went through Virgil's mind at the time. All of his fear, the voices that said he would spend the rest of his life alone, burst out of their confine. His worst case scenario had come true.

Cold spread from his fingertips, turning his body numb. He felt dizzy, sight blurring at the edges as his limbs scrambled for purchase at the tilting landscape.

This wasn't new. He could tell that it was a sign of an incoming attack. But when he tried to breathe, to take in air for one, two, three, four--

The colors melded together, becoming a blend of pigments that crowded into his senses. He faltered.

“ _Hey, you okay, man?_ ” The voice seemed to come from a distance. The colors spun. “ _Whoa! Hold on! Guys, help me out!_ ”

It was forever later--a couple minutes, really--that Virgil managed to regain his composure. There was a hand on his forehead, soft and comforting, like the darkness he saw through closed eyes.

“--you're okay. Don't worry, kiddo, you're safe here. Come on, breathe with me again. You're doing great.”

Those gentle words flowed steadily into him. Virgil's heart skipped a beat, before settling down to a more steady rhythm. It was comfortable, like this. Maybe he could even pretend that everything was just a bad dream, that he would wake to the grey, safe world of his past.

But he didn't like lying to himself.

Forcing his eyes to open, he finds the TA before him, almost close enough to make him flinch. That gaze, so full of worry, yet with the distance of a stranger's concern . . . they restarted the chill behind his ribs.

He couldn't stand it, so he looked away . . . only to see dozens other students in their class gathered in a circle around them. All of them were out of arm's reach, most likely to give him space, but they were all watching.

The chill turned into heat. Flush suffused his cheek, turning his face dark from shame.

“Kiddo, how are you feeling?”

The TA asked, and everyone instinctively leaned in to listen. Virgil felt his heart constricted. He couldn't deal with this. Not right now. Maybe not ever.

Abruptly standing, he shoved past his false soulmate and shoved through the other students who were in his way. Ignoring the surprise cry and the stares, he ran out of class, leaving the campus ground so he could grief alone.

He hid inside his apartment for many days, surviving only on cup noodles and looping Evanescence.

Maybe he would never resurface if not for a call from his grandma, huffing and puffing from her nursing home.

She berated him for a full hour, asking why he skipped all of his classes. Turned out, his episode that day concerned the TA enough that he tracked down Virgil's contact in the database and found an emergency number that belonged to his grandma.

After making sure he was in full health, she told him to get his ass in gear and stop acting like a coward. Did he want her to drag him herself, wheelchair and all?

Certain that she would dare to do just that, Virgil pleaded her to stay--( _Yes, okay, he would go back. He knew money was sparse, yes, he knew college was important, too, got it, really, so please calm down, Nana_.).

Even so, it took another two days before he finally shuffled out of the dinky apartment. He got to classes and kept to himself. In his literature hour, he picked the most secluded seat and drew his hoodie up, ensuring that he wouldn't meet anyone's eyes, especially Patton Paws--the man meant to be his soulmate.

Weeks went by this way, alone but rather peaceful. Virgil began to get use to the colors and started integrating them into his writings--most of them were about how annoying and unnecessary colors were, but at least he coped.

That peace wasn't meant to last, though.

It was a Wednesday, Virgil remembers. Clear sky, blue with specks of white clouds; a bird, maybe lark or sparrow, perched on the power line outside the window; . . . TA Patton standing in his way, preventing him from leaving class after the lesson was over.

“--tell me? I tried not to bother you, I swear, but I can't do it anymore. I know you hate me, but, please at least let me know why?”

Patton's rambling slowly reached his ears as he recovered from the shock of being there. Virgil blinked at him, unable to comprehend what was said to him.

“Huh?” That was all he managed to say, a question that sounded more like a grunt than anything.

Patton's face fell a little. But, he straightened up his spine, shoulders set with determination. “You've been avoiding me. Well, you seem to avoid everyone, but you don't even want to look at me!”

As if proving his point, Virgil's eyes skittered away until he was looking anywhere but at Patton and the hurt in that declaration. His foot started tapping with nerves. He wanted to run away . . .

“Please? Tell me what I did wrong. I'll do better, promise.”

Patton still went on and on with that misconception until Virgil couldn't take it anymore.

“Nothing!” Virgil snaps, hunching over from the crack in his voice. “It's not-- not _you_ , okay? Just . . . leave me alone!”

He was the freak, and this was him admitting it.

Eyes burning hot with shame, he dashed around Patton and ran away again--truly the coward everyone thought him as.

He couldn't skip the classes again, so each hour he had to suffer through, he hunched a little bit smaller in hope he could just disappear, or everyone would forget he existed.

His rude action should've driven Patton away, and for a week or so, it seemed to work. But the man turned out to be more stubborn than his peppy attitude implied.

When class was over, he waved at Virgil, then actually tapping his shoulders when Virgil pretended not to see his motion.

“Hmgh?” Unable to run without dying from the audacity, he once again stood before Patton, making a weird noise that was meant to be a question.

“Virgil! You did a good job with your assignment!” Patton picked up a paper from his desk and waved it around. That was a one page poem the professor requested from the students a few days ago. Write in whatever style you'd like best, she said.

Virgil did a freeform piece in fifteen minutes. No proofreads. Even he knew it was awful.

But he wouldn't--couldn't, without getting all tongue tied--refute Patton's lie. He just nodded once--”Thank you.”--and got ready to scram.

But Patton tensed, too, leaning forward as if he was ready to give chase in case Virgil truly flee. He held up the assignment and carefully asked, “Do you want to discuss it with me?”

“Huh? What?” Dumbfounded, Virgil only replied the question with less eloquent questions.

Realizing that he'd probably say no, Patton changed tactics. He pointed to one verse in the middle of the page.

‘ _Oxygen and I got a job for you_ ’.

Virgil paled, racking his brain to recall what in the seven hell was he thinking about when he wrote those words.

“See, I don't quite get this part. Can you explain it to me?” Patton asked innocently, unaware of the chaos he'd just unleashed inside Virgil's head.

Of course, Virgil could just say no and walk out of there. Maybe Patton would finally give up his attempt to _bond_. But if he did that, he would forever be haunted by his own action, in which he dismissed someone so kind out of pure selfishness.

He couldn't get his legs to move.

Alternating between terror and humiliation--if not a bit touched from the effort--he made up a stuttered explanation and wasted the rest of his hour huddled over the bad poem by Patton's side.

The pang inside his chest when they parted had to be relief.

But that wasn't the last time they interacted. Knowing this tactic worked, Patton now kept asking Virgil to stay after class to discuss his work--alternating with other students who also needed help or encouragement in that department. It happened often enough that Virgil actually had to put more effort into his study so he'd stop embarrassing himself.

Weeks turned into months, passing steadily beneath talks of Kipling, Poe, and Rowling. An hour meeting stretched into two, then three. Once, it turned into a lunch outing when neither could agree whether purple prose was necessary or not in romantic writings.

Virgil got comfortable. Patton was an unexpected company, but one he was glad to have. Most of the time, he even forgot that the world used to be grey; that these red, yellow, blue splashes were meant to hurt.

He stopped thinking about soulmate, deluding himself that those parts of his life could be shelved for good.

But, nothing can last forever. Things came to a head in the middle of winter break. It happened because of an innocuous question, of all thing.

“What’s your plan for Christmas?” Patton asked behind his mug, sipping warm chocolate and trying to chase the marshmallow that kept evading him.

They were sitting in a crowded Starbucks, surrounded by warm chatters and mild aroma of coffee. It was their second meeting since the break started. Patton invited him out both times, and oddly enough, their conversation quickly branching away from their studies. On day one, they talked about cartoons, puppets, and dogs. Lot of dogs. Second day, this.

Virgil gulped down his own hot tea and answered without much thought, “Nothing. Sleep, maybe.”

That respond made Patton stared at him, expression unreadable. Uncomfortable at the scrutiny, Virgil fidgeted and sunk lower in his seat.

“What?” he grumbled.

“I’ve been wondering--” Patton started to say something, but he halted mid-way, hesitated, then changed the question. “Virgil . . . can I ask you something personal?”

Bad omen emerged in Virgil’s guts, causing his stomach to churn. He slowly set his cup down. Discomfort was encroaching his mind, clamoring with fear and curiosity. What did Patton want to know, to make him look so serious?

After a long stretch of seconds, he swallowed his nerves and handed over the answer. “Yeah. Ask.”

Patton, too, seemed to experience the same discomfort, altering between opening his mouth and clasping it shut before forming any words. It took a whole minute, in which he drained his hot chocolate nearly to the last drop, before he managed to say what he wanted to know.

“I’ve been wondering . . . I mean, I always see you alone, or . . . with me. But your works-- that is, your homework, mostly, they know colors-- like, not just as speculations, but like you actually _see_ them.” Patton paused, taking a deep breath. Then, he ended the confrontation with, “Virge, what happened to your soulmate?”

Virgil had went pallid since Patton started talking. He made the mistake of drinking his tea to calm down. When Patton brought up the subject of soulmate, he gasped, and that tea went down the wrong pipe.

Doubling over in his seat, he coughed his lungs out, fingers faltering until the cup slipped and crashed against the floor. Under the sudden spike of pain, he watched through blurry eyes as Patton leaped up to approach him, followed by the stare of every person in the coffee shop. Panic tried to take over his brain, but behind that, common sense spoke up.

_‘Isn’t it a good time to run?’_

His survival instinct agreed. Still expelling the last wave of coughs in his throat, he got to his feet and shook Patton’s hand from his shoulder. Then, he ran, like he did many months ago.

Winter’s cold air greeted him like a punch to the chest. He resisted the urge to step back into the cafe and let the door swung shut behind him.

It wasn’t snowing today, and the slippery street had been cleared of frost. Virgil also considered himself pretty fast, with how often he fled from unpleasant situations. But even so, he only got halfway down the road before someone slammed onto him and almost sent them both toppling to the ground.

“What the h--”

“Sorry, sorry! I couldn’t stop!”

Patton, who successfully caught up, had his arm around Virgil, holding him steady. Virgil squirmed to get free, but Patton didn’t let go, only shifting so he was grasping Virgil’s wrist, preventing him from leaving again.

“Please don’t run away. I didn’t mean to scare you,” Patton pleaded.

Virgil’s heart was beating a mile a minute. Whether he meant it or not, Patton had successfully scared him. His guard, which had steadily dwindled in the past, was now back stronger than ever.

“Let me go,” Virgil mumbled, weakly trying to tug his hand free.

“I . . . I can’t.” Surprisingly, Patton refused to back down. “I don’t want to hurt you, but I’m worried, Virge.”

“Well, _don’t_ ,” Virgil snapped, for once hating the sympathy Patton showed to everyone and everything. “It’s none of your business.”

“But you’re my student! And . . . we’re friends,” Patton added the last part softly. “You don’t have to keep everything to yourself. You can tell me anything.”

“No.” Virgil went cold, for reason other than the season, because for a second, he actually considered telling Patton the truth. _Hey, so you’re my soulmate, but I’m not yours. Haha. Nice talk. Bye._

The fight went out of him, drained from his own scorn. His head hung low, arm limp in Patton’s hand. So, he couldn’t escape. That was fine. He could just stay silent and tune out any entreaty that would get him to open up.

He shouldn’t have underestimated Patton. “I’ll just ask, then, Virge . . . Am I your soulmate?”

The question was so unexpected that Virgil actually failed to process that for a while. When it did sink in, he gaped until his throat went numb from the winter breeze that sauntered in. “You knew?”

“So, it’s true?” Patton let out a sigh unlike any he’d ever shown before. “I suspected for a while, but I can’t be sure--”

“Because I’m not your soulmate,” Virgil cut him off. It would hurt more to hear the fact from Patton’s lips than from his own. At least, he felt nothing, now. Just hollow.

Patton, on the other hand, was baffled. “What? Why aren’t you my soulmate? Of course you are!”

Virgil didn’t want his sympathy. He didn’t want to become one of the liars who forced another into a doomed relationship.

. . . Patton deserved better than him.

“Don’t lie to me, Pat. I’m not blind. You still haven’t see colors.”

“Well, of course I don’t. I’m color blind!” Patton announced this so cheerfully that other pedestrians around them turned to give him dirty looks.

Virgil suddenly got a painful flashback of his high school era, when grey was all he knew and what he thought he would ever know. That word had become such a stigma that nobody even dared to say it anymore. How could Patton, of all people, think that way?

The ache inside his heart temporarily waned, replaced by prickles of worry. “No, Patton. You’re not color blind. It doesn’t exist.”

Hearing those rebuttal, Patton made this tiny, offended noise. “Of course it exists! I’m color blind. Full on. My mom is, too. We even got the doctor’s certificates and all. I got complete achromatopsia, Virge. That means I’ll see grey, forever, but that got nothing to do with you being my soulmate!”

Virgil had no idea what that word meant, but he didn’t need to know it to realize what Patton was saying--what kind of hope he was offering Virgil. His heart began to race again, veins pulsing like the beat of fragile wings beneath his skin. Could he truly have this? What if they were both wrong? Was he brave enough to risk it?

“You can’t be sure, Pat. What if you find your true soulmate, someday? I don’t want you to regret it.”

Patton repeated that indignant noise he made, except this one sounded much more frustrated. He brought up Virgil’s hand which he was still holding and pressed it to his chest. “There. Can you feel it?” There was fluttering under Virgil’s palm, a heart that was racing, almost like an echo to his own. “With you, it’s _right_. I’m happier, more comfortable, than I am with anyone else. I felt it even before you told me. You _are_ my true soulmate. I’ll never regret you.”

Virgil melted. There wasn’t a single soul who could look into Patton’s eyes right now and didn’t fold under his sincerity. Tongue-tied, he tried to withdraw his hand before he did something stupid, like pulling the other man into a hug.

Patton misunderstood. Maybe he thought Virgil was pulling away, unable to believe him. To prevent that, he stepped closer until there was almost no distance left between them. Cupping Virgil’s cheeks in his hands, he enunciated his words slowly, making sure they were heard loud and clear. “Virgil, I can’t see your colors, but I know I’m meant for you.”

The cheeks under Patton’s hands were burning. Even without a mirror, Virgil knew he was as red as a lobster. He must’ve looked horrendous in the grey world. Burying his face in his sleeves, he prevented further embarrassment by mumbling, “Yeah. Okay. I believe you. I do.”

“Oh. Are you blushing? Aww,” Patton cooed, making Virgil even more embarrassed. “ _Orange_ you just the sweetest thing.”

Virgil _would_ blush more under the relentless teasing, but what he heard gave him a pause. Peeking out from behind his hands, he dubiously asked, “Did you just . . . made a pun? With colors?”

“Yes! You noticed!” Patton nearly squealed, clapping in excitement like a little kid. “Isn’t it _peachy_?”

“But--” _You’re color blind_. “--How can you . . .”

“Oh, it’s not a big _teal_. I _red_ them up enough. I’ve been stacking them since forever!”

“Stop, stop!” Virgil tried to halt him before all the bad jokes killed him. His wrecked and patched-up emotions were forgotten for now. He was completely focused on distracting Patton. “Right, my drink is still in the caf-- oh, no, it’s not. I mean, yours is!”

“Ah, that’s right!” Patton snapped his fingers in realization. “I forgot about it, since we just left out of the _blue_.”

“Patton, _no_ ,” Virgil groaned, biting back the grin that tried to emerge. He didn’t want to laugh to such awful humor. Tugging Patton’s arm, he got them moving to escape the cold. “Come on. I’ll listen to you once we’re inside.”

When he stole a glance, Patton had a small and the most perfect smile on his face. Without any warning, Patton swept in and pecked him on the cheek, whispering, “I love you.”

Virgil gaped. Never, in his long history full of dreary hopes and dreams, did he ever imagine someone saying those words to him. Should . . . should he say it back? Wasn’t it too soon? They just came to term with it. But didn’t he--

Before Virgil could drive himself into a fresh wave of panic, Patton poked him, radiating with excitement. “Virge, Virge, listen, I just thought of this one. I love _hue_. Get it? I love you, and I love _hue_.”

That panic died a swift death. Once again, Patton had broken the mood, in the best possible way--and the shine within those eyes showed that he knew exactly what he was doing.

Patton, this beautiful soul . . . was his. 

Overwhelmed with the realization, Virgil shut his eyes, blocked out all the colors, and just smiled.

 


End file.
